


I Can Only Give You Everything I've Got

by geckoholic



Series: kink bingo fills [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Begging, Clothed Sex, Comeplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Hand Jobs, M/M, Season/Series 03, Touch-Starved, and a tiny little bit of, it's really just the hand job, well by any definition of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: And oh, that didn't occur to Keith yet, but during all those weeks that he was gone, Shiro was alone. If he'd been touched at all, it wasn't friendly or gentle, and it certainly wasn't pleasant. And that's another thing they went over during their first few months in the castle: Shiro craved contact back then too. They'd spent hours with Keith touching every part of him, holding him close – not even fucking, necessarily, although they did their fair share of that too, but turning touch back into a pleasant sensation, when for a year all it meant was pain or fear.





	I Can Only Give You Everything I've Got

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm not usually one to throw out immediate episode codas, porny or otherwise, but my twitter timeline is evil and that's all I have to say on this matter. XD Oh, and also, this fills the _begging_ square on my shiny new seasonofkink bingo card. We're just gonna use that as an additional excuse. 
> 
> Unbetad because I'm impatient tonight, so all mistakes are most definitely mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Make This Go On Forever" by Snow Patrol.

He looks so different. That's the second thought Keith has, of course; the first is just being _so glad_ that he's back. It's so sudden and unexpected, just seeing him there in that tiny ship, that Keith needs a little while to wrap his hand around it, even while Shiro leans on him all the way from the hangar to the bridge. Everyone's staring at them with wide eyes, elbowing each other and mumbling. 

Pidge is the one who steps forward, curiosity stronger than awkwardness and tact. “Where have you _been_? What happened?” 

“I...” Shiro starts, and he manages to hold her gaze for only a few seconds before he turns his head and looks away. “Galra. And your guess is as good as mine. I got away when they were readying for an attack, and – “

He would tell them the whole story right here, right now, but Keith feels him shifting, putting more of his weight on Keith's body for support, and decides that can wait. “Not now. We can play twenty questions later, figure this out when we all had some rest.”

To punctuate his words, he glares at each of them in turn. Pidge's mouth snaps shut, Hunk holds his hands up to signal surrender, Lance nods in agreement – that's still a new one, being on the same page with _Lance_ – and Allura steps in, smiling politely. 

“Of course,” she says, exchanging a knowing glance with Keith. “We can analyze the ship in the meantime. See if there's anything useful left in the communication logs.” 

From the eye rolls and annoyed groans, the others recognize that as the distraction that it is. They fall in line, however, letting the Princess assign them each a task, and Keith maneuvers Shiro off the bridge and down the hallway to their private quarters. Shiro lets himself be led, his steps lagging just a little behind Keith's pace, even though he's already walking slowly. 

Keith knows he's being territorial and maybe a bit unfair; they're all acting out of concern, and they all care. But under the circumstances – weeks, Shiro was missing for _weeks_ , again, ripping open a wound on Keith's heart that had barely begun to scab over in the first place – he feels entitled to field all their questions and shepherd Shiro away on his own. 

Back in his room, Keith guides them both down onto the bed, and once they're sat on the edge of the mattress, side by side, Shiro exhales. He doesn't move away, keeps his human arm wrapped around Keith's neck and shoulders, and Keith can feel Shiro's breath puffing out against his neck as he burrows closer. The position is awkward, what with Shiro's larger frame resting entirely on Keith's smaller one, and now that he's got him in here Keith is unsure what to do. He lifts a hand to brush the long, unruly hair out of Shiro's face, and his heart jumps at the small smile Shiro gives him for that. 

“Simple prisoners don't get grooming, it seems,” Shiro jokes, halfheartedly, the effect lost since all he sounds like is tired, utterly exhausted, and not the least bit amused. “That's for gladiators only.” 

And that's a thought, a hint towards something Keith can _do_. “Would you like a shower? Get out of these clothes, get clean, and then you can try to get some rest?” 

He can feel Shiro's head bod as he nods. “Sounds good. Just...” Shiro moves away from him in order to brace himself on the edge of the bed, try and stand up, and barely makes it a hand's width of the bed before he stutters back down. “I might need some help with that.” 

The look he gives Keith is sheepish and embarrassed, and Keith hooks his arm back under Shiro's arm pit and hauls him up without ceremony or so much as another word. Assurances will just make him more ashamed – they've been over that with the nightmares and the flashbacks. 

Making their way over to the bathroom, Shiro's balance is even worse that before. He keeps stumbling over his own feet, and Keith pulls him in closer, rests a hand on his chest to support him from better. It changes the angle at which Shiro is pressed to his body, and he can feel the muscles in Shiro's hip and thigh work as he walks with him. It's like there's nothing between them; the first time around, back in that Garrison tent, Keith didn't notice just how thin and flimsy those Galra prison dresses are, transfer body heat like they're skin to skin. And that's an ill-timed thought, because Keith has spent plenty time being _skin to skin_ with Shiro. Certainly enough to spark a Pavlovian reaction. He tries to angle himself away, but it's too late: Keith is getting hard, and judging from Shiro's intake of breath at exactly that moment, he already noticed. 

“I'm sorry,” Keith says. “I'm not gonna... fuck, it's just, you're so close and that dress is really thin and you were gone and I missed you so much and... _Fuck._ “ He shifts again, trying to get at least some distance between them – between Shiro's thigh and his own erection, more specifically – and is stopped short when Shiro's hold on him tightens. 

“Don't apologize.” Shiro slows to a stand, the sudden loss of cooperation forcing stalling Keith as well. “And, uh.” He clears his throat, and between the long hair that's falling into his face Keith can see that he's blushing. “Stay close. Touch me, if you like. I... I missed you too.” 

And oh, that didn't occur to Keith yet, but during all those weeks that he was gone, Shiro was alone. If he'd been touched at all, it wasn't friendly or gentle, and it certainly wasn't pleasant. And that's another thing they went over during their first few months in the castle: Shiro craved contact back then too. They'd spent hours with Keith touching every part of him, holding him close – not even fucking, necessarily, although they did their fair share of that too, but turning touch back into a pleasant sensation, when for a year all it meant was pain or fear. 

“What did they do to you this time?” Keith asks, because he needs to know, anger, fury even, pitching itself up inside of him like waves in a storm. 

Shiro looks up, shakes his head. “Not now. Please, just. Come on. _Touch me._ ”

Before it's been permission, and Keith would have ignored that, would have felt selfish giving in, but now it's different. Now it's a plea, Shiro's asking, and Keith doesn't have the strength to refuse him. He nudges Shiro with his elbow, with incrementally increased pressure where his hand is splayed over Shiro's chest, directs him the last few steps into the bathroom and backs him up against the wall. Turns them in the process, so that it's Shiro's back hitting the tiles, giving him something to lean against, and already Shiro's arms are moving to loop around Keith's neck. His stance is everything bit stable, his legs are trembling, but he wides them anyway, giving Keith room, better access to his crotch, and Keith has to close his eyes against the uncharacteristically blatant, needy invitation. He slides the hand he's had on Shiro's chest down, away from the rough crop top and over the body suit underneath, which feels like low-quality silk, the kind that's used for cheap sheets or underwear, and he can feel the warmth of Shiro's body underneath his fingertips, feel his stomach muscles flutter. 

Shiro's head tilts forward, forehead resting against the crook of Keith's neck. “Please,” he breathes out, and Keith's second thoughts move to the back of his mind. 

Even so, the first brush of his fingers over Shiro's crotch is careful, brief and hesitant, and he pauses immediately in case Shiro will tell him no after all. 

“ _Please,_ ” breathes out instead, again, his voice a whisper. “I'm okay, just. I need you. I need to feel you. I need you to make _me_ feel like I'm really back home.” 

“Okay,” Keith says, dumbly, letting his hand wander lower, caressing Shiro's balls, because that somehow feels less like an intrusion, like taking advantage, even though Shiro is quite literally begging for this. He sucks in a breath at the touch, followed by a deep groan, and Keith takes that as encouragement and repeated permission. 

The Galra don't seem to be big believers in underwear, at least not on their prisoners. There's still just that one flimsy layer of fabric, and Keith can feel everything – the contour of Shiro's pubic hair when he rolls Shiro's balls in the palm of his hand, the way his cock jumps further up against Keith's wrist, growing hard and full. He presses the heel of his hand against the base, and Shiro groans, pushing into the touch, fingers digging into the flesh at Keith's neck. He breathes out another plea, and he doesn't stop, a constant stream of _please_ and _don't stop_ falling from his lips, alternated with Keith's name. 

Keith moves his hand up just a bit, to rub his palm up and down over the length of Shiro's dick, the outline of his reaction now also clearly visible. The body suit hides _nothing_ , Keith could swear he can even make out the dip of the his cockhead, has no trouble whatsoever conjuring up the memory of what it looks like free of fabric, what it tastes like against his tongue, and slowly but surely he's forgetting his hesitance. He fits his hand around Shiro's erection, the suit giving easily, and squeezes, and Shiro rewards him with a loud, stuttered moan. 

“Getting close?” Keith asks, and Shiro nods against his neck, and he's babbling, too low for Keith to understand but the tone is unmistakeable. Keith closes his eyes and nuzzles against him, for a second thrown by the lack of short, spiky hair. “Shh. It's okay. I'm here now. I'm taking care of you.” 

He runs his thumb against the tip of Shiro's cock, where he knows his slit to be, and then pinches his fingers together just below the head, before taking up the constant, insistent pressure against the shaft again. Shiro's in no condition to last, and it takes maybe three or for more flicks of Keith's wrist before he's coming, wet and hot against Keith's hand. His hips pump forward, and Keith keeps rubbing at him until the momentary strength bleeds back out of him and he sags into Keith's arms, completely boneless. 

Keith, for his part, can't bring himself to move his hand away just yet. He shifts Shiro's weight against him so he can look down, so he can _see_ the wet spot on the suit. He presses his fingers into the mess and has to bite his lip when he sees Shiro's come bleed through the fabric that's gone almost translucent. He sweeps some up with his thumb, raises his hand for a taste, and only now notices the pulse of his own need against the inseam of his pants. 

But that's a concern for later, because they still have an agenda here: getting Shiro clean, and getting him into bed. He pulls Shiro forward, away from the wall, and coaxes him into the shower. Getting him undressed is mechanical, lacking all allure or eroticism, and Keith wills his body to behave, simmer down, when he undresses and joins him under the spray to keep him from falling over. 

Now it's just comforting, the weight of Shiro in his arms, Shiro's wet skin against his own. The prison suit lays in a heap on the bathroom floor, and later, when Shiro's asleep, Keith will throw it away, possibly set it on fire or eject it into space. 

If Keith has any say in it, Shiro will never, _never_ have to wear it again, nor will he ever again have to be reminded that his body can feel pleasure as well as pain. Twice is more than enough. The universe isn't going to take him from Keith a third time. Keith won't _let it_.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
